To Be Heard
by who won the race back home
Summary: According to Wikipedia, the name Simon means "to be heard," and that was something she had wanted since being the king of her stuffed animals.  Part 1 complete .
1. Chapter 1

She lied to Puck the day she slept with him.

Yeah, it was kind of a fat day. It was one of those days she spent trapped in her head, thinking about Lucy. How she used to play in the backyard, climbing all over the swing set they had set up, building up a huge pile of leaves and then launching onto it from one of the swings. How she would make forts in her room and rule as king over her stuffed animals, and how they didn't expect anything from her, so it was okay with them if she was king. And how they loved her no matter what.

She got rid of all her stuffed animals after the nose job. Those were for kids. Not for girls who wanted to survive high school with dignity. Not for girls who had to be perfect for their parents. Not for a girl who wanted to be love

She couldn't like herself, so she changed until someone else would. Someone real.

Finn would've been understanding. He would have tried to comfort her in his own sweet, but ultimately dumb way. Some days she was certain he was the only person in the world who got her. He would never say it because she scared him most of the time, but at the very least, he always made her feel safe and wanted. Almost like a person, instead of some perfect fantasy of a model Christian daughter.

But she didn't want to be comforted. She just wanted to feel like a normal sixteen year-old girl. So she called up Puck and asked him to come over in that voice she perfected over the summer, the one that had every guy at school wanting her. The one that got her what _she_ wanted. And right then, all she wanted was to feel how she was supposed to.

Puck came over and brought wine coolers (she didn't even get a buzz, but she at least had to pretend that she didn't want this as badly as she did) and told her she wasn't fat. Then he fucked her until she felt how she was supposed to again.

* * *

><p>This body had not belonged to her in a very long time. Bits and pieces had been bought and sold, traded for years. She belonged to her parents (and to a lesser extent, her sister, Ann), to Coach Sylvester, Santana, Brittany, and the Cheerios, to Finn, even if he didn't mean to take it. There was a part that the Lutheran church her family went to had been offered when she was very young. Before almost everyone else wanted to stake a claim. And for one night, she belonged to Noah Puckerman.<p>

After that, her body belonged solely to the child growing in her. An alien being she didn't understand and didn't want. And even after being split in so many pieces for so long, this was worse than she could even comprehend. She finally got most of herself back, at an incredible cost, and in the same moment it was immediately ripped from her and given to a person growing inside her. It was a reminder every second that she didn't belong to herself, and that she never, ever, would.

* * *

><p>When Rachel told Finn that Puck was the baby's real father, the last big piece finally was snatched out of her fingers. Every one of them belonged to that child, and it was torture that they were so close. Realistically, she knew that there was no way she could keep it, raise it (with who? Puck? Her parents if they ever let her back in the house?) but sometimes that felt like it was the only way she would keep from disappearing completely once it was was born.<p>

She was so, so tired. She was a ghost.

* * *

><p>One night in March she sat on the bed of a boy she had never met, Mercedes' older brother. It was a small space, with blue walls covered in posters of rappers she'd never heard of and basketball players Finn used to go on and on about. She heard Mercedes and her mother laugh downstairs, over who knew what, and it was so warm. It was beautiful.<p>

Sitting on a stranger's bed, in a house only a mile and half from her parents', she cried harder than she had in years. She cried because there was laugher in a house that didn't feel like a museum, because there was a family downstairs that could laugh together, because she was sitting on the bed of a boy she had never met, but who she felt more connected to in that moment than anyone else in the world. Because whatever this was felt more like home than anything since blanket forts and kingdoms of loyal subjects.

She cried because there was something horrifically wrong with her, and she had no idea what it was.

* * *

><p>The day they lost Regionals her body was taken away by her mother, Puck, Shelby Corcoran, and a tiny child with a tuft of blonde hair and hazel eyes.<p>

This time she was sure she'd never get it back. But she didn't know if she even wanted it anymore.

* * *

><p>By the time summer came, she had been living back in her mother's house for a couple months. It was quiet, and lonely. While she was gone, her mother had taken up mysterious new hobbies that required a number of weekend getaways and heavy drinking. This left her alone with the thoughts that had haunted her since that night in Mercedes' house. That something was wrong, her body or her mind or-<p>

She. That _she _was wrong.

And that thought was so foreign and bizarre (and wrong, because it had to be), that there was no way it could be real. She had just given her child up for adoption. She was missing something, because that baby girl took everything she had left. She couldn't be wrong. It was just emptiness, and that would fade with time. To what, she didn't know, but it would go away and she would be fine again.

August came and she still wasn't fine. By August she was drunk almost as often as she assumed her mother was, they only saw each other once or twice a week, and since kicking her father out, she had taken to vodka tonics instead of scotch, and vodka was much easier to replace with water and have no one be the wiser. While Judy sailed down the Ohio on booze cruises and spent weekends at retreats, she sat in her mausoleum of a bedroom and googled until her eyes refused to focus. She never looked for what she feared the worst.

A week before school was set to begin, she was well on her way to blacking out thanks to her mom's liquor store run the day before. She was exhausted, and just hated herself so fucking much, and knew that when she typed "am I transgender" into the search bar she wouldn't remember it the next day. She was way too drunk to be able to read anything that came up, so after a few attempts clicked on a video called "Coming out as trans" and a guy with a name she didn't catch started to talk.

As soon as he said that he had always felt like he didn't belong in his own body, she slammed her laptop shut, sending her glass to the floor and spilling vodka everywhere. She stumbled over to her bed and laid awake for hours, through the stupor wearing off and into a hangover she prayed would be bad enough to numb her mind, so scared she could barely breathe.

* * *

><p>AN: This is my first attempt writing something with chapters, so constructive criticism, especially regarding characterization and pacing, is very, very welcome. Also, this will be AU after the events of season three's first episode, because the writers saddled Quinn with a level of crazy I am nowhere near talented enough to realistically tackle.


	2. Chapter 2

She kept telling herself it was a fleeting, drunken thought.

But it never went away.

* * *

><p>Coach always wanted her to be a fighter, knew working for what she wanted would make her stronger. Sue always was saying that she reminded her of herself at that age, and while that would probably be an insult to anyone else, it meant she could beat anything. She could win.<p>

So Sue made her fight for the Cheerios. Ratting on Santana wasn't a great moment, but it's what she needed to do to get back in charge of McKinley and make sure she had the power to keep everyone else from questioning what was going on with her. Intimidation kept them at bay and from figuring out how distracted and scared she was.

The uniform was like a suit of armor, not because it protected her (although it did, and well), but because it hid her. With it on, she was Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader, and no one had to, or wanted to, know anything else. Tearing someone down who was a bitch on her best days, there was no question, it was worth it.

* * *

><p>Sam was perfect. He was cute, dorky in that endearing way, and he meant so well. In a lot of ways, he was like Finn; because she liked him so much, he made her feel okay. Normal. At first, she didn't want to date him because she didn't want to have to rely on someone to make her feel like she was supposed to. It felt like a crutch. She wanted to get through this thing in her head without leaning on a boyfriend, because what would happen when Sam or Finn or whoever wasn't around anymore? It would eat her alive.<p>

But he was relentlessly charming, and part of her just wanted to be happy. It took so much effort to keep from going insane. She lived in her head with all the awful things that terrified her, but when she was practicing that song for the duets competition with him, it turned off for a minute.

When he stuck his foot in his mouth, but ultimately made her believe that he truly didn't judge her for everything that happened to her the year before, she decided to trust him, for at least little while. Even if she was never honest with him or even herself, he was honest enough for both of them. Enough for her to breathe.

The abstinence club and her persistence kept him from getting too physical. Sam using Beiste to keep from getting _too _close didn't really bother her; she wouldn't, she just couldn't deal with him touching her like that. It made her anxious and want to break down in panic attacks. But she knew it should have bothered her, and she only did what she had to to keep people from asking questions, because if they did, they wouldn't be wondering what was wrong with him.

* * *

><p>It was during their performance at Sectionals she realized she couldn't be with him anymore, because she was pretty sure she loved him, and relationships in high school were so ridiculously fleeting that she needed to keep him in her life somehow, which she knew wouldn't happen if they kept dating. He was a barely hidden dork with a huge heart, and she needed something real in her life, even if it meant losing him for a while.<p>

(There was also a very, very small part of her that wanted to be _like _him, but she just dismissed that as being desperately in need of a real friend).

She couldn't stay single, though. There'd be questions, and stupid boys trying to get with her who she couldn't trust. Or worse, there wouldn't be anyone trying, because things were easily forgotten at McKinley, but a girl getting pregnant, then coming back? That was unheard of. And really, who wanted to be the one to try and get through the abstinence club morals only to knock her up again and fuck up their own life?

After breaking up with Rachel, Finn was looking to gain back some semblance of a reputation too, and being with him would be easy. He was familiar, comfortable, and she knew she could easily throw up the same boundaries she had with him before and he would probably take it. So she kissed him, and fooled around behind Sam's back because she couldn't let him go yet. She didn't want to need someone genuine so badly, but in the end she just knew that he had to be in her life after high school was over.

And so he started dating Santana and couldn't even look her in the eye anymore. It seemed like he wanted to hate her, but couldn't muster the feeling. He just looked sad. And disappointed. She couldn't blame him, she was disappointed too, that she had to cheat on a wonderful boy in order to stand a chance of having him around after she became nothing. Because even with the cheating, she still didn't think he judged her for what went on in her head. At least that's what she was betting on.

* * *

><p>Rachel fucked everything up by wanting things so badly, things a normal sixteen-year-old wanted, like fame and a career doing something she loved. And that made Quinn want to drink herself stupid enough to have normal dreams like that. All she wanted was to stop having nightmares, and when she woke up, not to feel so utterly lost that it was in the same body she went to sleep in.<p>

She knew she was smart enough to get out of Lima, probably as far away as she liked as long as she kept her grades up. But what was the point? She couldn't outrun whatever was constantly eating at her, why try to live the lie somewhere else.

* * *

><p>Most Sundays, her church was no better than the halls of McKinley with the way gossip went around. She still got dirty looks every week, and it had been almost a year since she was pregnant. When the Evans lost their house and started living in a motel, it was all anyone could talk about in polite whispers with darting eyes. Her mother got in on it too, which made her nauseous, because apparently the Fabray memory was very short.<p>

She knew he would never in a million years ask for help, so she went to his parents and asked if there was anything she could do. His mom found a night shift stocking job at Target, and Sam had just started over at the new pizza place making deliveries. His dad still spent all day looking for work, so there was no one back at the motel most nights to watch Stevie and Stacey, and they really couldn't afford a sitter.

The next day when she showed up at his door, Sam nearly slammed it in her face, but his mom told him not to be rude and he reluctantly let her in. After awkward small talk, they both went off to work and she was left with the kids. They were excited to have her around again, maybe because she was a familiar face, or maybe just because she wasn't exhausted and had the time and energy to play with them. Either way, they acted like she had never left.

For the first week, whenever she was coming or going, it would be deadly quiet, and Sam looked like he could barely keep himself from screaming at her. She didn't blame him, but she was sick of it, and he looked like he needed a friend as badly as she did.

"I'm sorry," she said one night, as he was closing the door behind her.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

He knew she wasn't talking about being homeless. He had head that "sorry" enough for a lifetime, and that was just at church where she could hear. She had been there; "sorry" doesn't mean much then.

"Then why'd you do it?"

"Because…" He had left his coat inside and was starting to shiver, and looked impatient. "Because I needed to be your friend."

"Then why couldn't you have just said that instead of frickin' sneaking around with Finn?"

"I just-I don't know." She wanted to say because she was fucked in the head, and knew she was probably going to lose him anyways, and that was the only way she could think to eventually keep him around. But saying it out loud would make her seem as crazy as she felt.

"Goodnight, Quinn," he sighed, and went back inside.

That Saturday afternoon she showed up at the motel and before she even got to the porch she could hear Stacey and Stevie screaming. Sam opened the door and the kids practically toppled her.

"I tried calling you, but you weren't picking up your phone. My shift got changed, so I'm not working today. Sorry you had to come all the way over," he said.

"I mean, I could stay for a while. You look tired."

"They're driving me nuts."

Stacey made a face at him, but just ran over to the bed and began wrestling with Stevie.

"How about I take them out?" she said.

Sam shook his head and frowned. "You know we don't have the money to go out and do stuff."

"Let me take them to Color Me Mine." He gave her a look. "Just think of it as me making it up to you."

He looked at Stevie and Stacey, then back to her. "As long as you don't mind me coming along and showing up all of you with my painting skills," he said loud enough for the kids to hear.

She genuinely laughed for the first time in a long while. It surprised her, and Sam even more, but he just smiled and told his brother and sister to get their coats on.

On the way back to Lima, Stevie and Stacie fell asleep almost immediately, both of them clutching what they had made (Stacie had a blue and purple seahorse, Stevie a mug, like Sam, except instead of having the X-Men symbol on it, he had Sam help with the Flash's lightning bolt, after an argument over who would win in a fight, Wally West or Colossus). Sam was quiet, too, but she could tell he was thinking. He leaned against the window and let out a breath.

"Thanks, Quinn."

"Thanks for letting me," she replied, glancing over to him. "I didn't know you were so good at painting ceramic mugs."

That got a laugh. "I dunno, since I always had a hard time reading, I started getting into comics, because you can tell what's going on without necessarily having to get all the words, y'know? And the characters were all so cool, and, like, what kid doesn't want to draw superheroes? I just ended up being pretty good at it."

"I've never read a comic in my life."

"Really?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is it that surprising?"

"No, I guess not," he said.

"I think the closest I got were the Narnia books."

"So not very close?"

"Not really, no. But the kids in those books were like superheroes to me, maybe even more than that because they were just kids, but they got to go on these adventures and fight in epic battles. I don't know. There was definitely a period of time when I was a kid that I would try and get to Narnia through my closet."

He didn't reply, just looked at her.

"But seriously. You're talented, Sam." she said.

"Thanks."

The rest of the ride was in comfortable silence.

* * *

><p>It felt so good to slap Rachel, even if she immediately regretted it, because once she got past high school, Rachel would have everything. All she would get is a job in middle management, a stomach full of holes, and a life that was meant for a girl who would exist in name only.<p>

That night everything was just so bad. Losing prom queen and having Finn kicked out were nothing compared to how she felt like she was drowning. She couldn't even feel normal in the _one _place where she still had control and power. If Rachel called her pretty one more time, she was going to slap her again.

* * *

><p>She wanted to scream at him that she couldn't feel anything anymore, because if she did, she would have to feel everything. And feeling it would make it real. She couldn't tell him why she needed him, because the only ways she could think to word it made it seem petty, like he was nothing but part of her facade. But he was the only thing that made her functional in school and in glee. She wished that she could stand on her own without him. He didn't get that she <em>had <em>to hide from everyone and it was something she couldn't explain away, and Rachel was just so present and available and god, she wanted to hurt her so badly, and put her in her place.

But then she had nothing, so she grasped at straws to keep everyone at a distance. Saying she had a plan kept them thinking about what she was doing, not who she was and what was going on in her head. She didn't have a plan, but it kept everyone on edge and bought her a little more time.

* * *

><p>Nationals made her realize a lot of things. Mostly that even if half of the glee club hadn't planned on moving there, she could never end up in New York. She thought being so small and so nameless would make her feel better, and that the noise would drown out the rest, but it just made her nervous instead. It also didn't help that the tall buildings and all the people brought back her claustrophobia<p>

But she was thinking about maybe living somewhere other than Lima, sometimes. Most days she still figured she'd never live outside of western Ohio, but once in a while Sam would talk about maybe going to art school and trying to get into comics or animation or something he could remotely care about. She would never say anything back, but would daydream for a moment about somewhere else. It was never specific, but it was always not Ohio.

She ended up in the in the other hotel room because she wasn't getting anywhere with song ideas, so she just started writing whatever came to mind. It was a mess. There were just lines of nonsense about her body and her mom, disappointment, and Beth. She couldn't look at it, so she left the room. Santana and Brittany came knocking five minutes later.

It was hard to remember sometimes that they all used to be really good friends, not just stepping stones to the top of the pyramid, or allies when they needed to work against Sue. She missed them, but knew at this point she could probably never get them back, not really anyways. But for a couple of hours they made each other feel okay. She would never admit it, but letting Santana cut her hair did make her feel a little better, because it almost felt like she was making a choice for herself


	3. Chapter 3

For a moment she thought she was okay. After nationals and during those last couple weeks of school, she got herself to believe that the past year had been a fever dream, and that the stress of McKinley and giving up her child had made her go temporarily insane. She kept babysitting and she and Sam would spend afternoons studying for their upcoming tests, but they actually ended up talking rather than studying most days. A couple of Saturdays were spent with Santana and Brittany, hanging out like friends were supposed to, watching movies in Santana's room and trying to hide how happy she was that her and Brittany seemed to be figuring things out. It would have only spooked Santana, and there was no use in wrecking the tenuous bond they had formed.

For those couple of weeks it was easy to ignore that persistent gnawing in her head. She didn't hate herself in the way she had before. She stopped looking in mirrors if she could avoid it, and made sure she got dressed before she put her contacts in. With nothing to look at and obsess over, she felt okay. She felt like something approaching normal.

But then finals ended, and without school or glee to keep her distracted and occupy most of her time, that facade broke down quickly and she easily slipped back into her head, and back to drinking her mother's vodka. She used to take solace in solitude and quiet, but now she couldn't even have that. Alone in her house she had no one to hide from, no walls to build up; there was no one to manipulate to keep herself on top and in power.

It was just her, the nightmares, and a body she despised.

* * *

><p>For the first month of vacation, the glee kids tried to get her out of the house. Brittany and Santana called constantly, but she ignored them, or made up excuses that they knew were bullshit, but didn't call her on. Mercedes texted a couple times, asking when they were going to see her again, but she never replied. Her messages were always a reminder of that night in her brother's bedroom.<p>

Sam was the only one she talked to. She was still over at the motel a few times a week to babysit, or he would come to her very empty house. He kept her in reality, even if it was just by stopping over and watching the Food Network with her. There was absolutely no way he didn't know something was wrong with her, but he never pushed, although once in a while she would catch the concerned look he often had on his face out of the corner of her eye. He tried a few times to get her to come hang out with Mike and Tina or Artie, but she always declined. Instead, after he left, she would go and drink away her envy and that biting raw disgust that had started surfacing over how much she wished she was him. And then she would drink more to deal with the guilt of feeling that way towards him when he had been nothing but kind and forgiving the past few months.

Then, when she was too drunk to feel _anything_ about Sam or anyone else real (including Quinn Fabray), she'd start googling again. One night, after spending the day with him and talking about the future (for her in the vaguest sense, she planned to continue existing in some capacity. For him, things were starting to seem a bit more concrete, art school, maybe close to home, maybe on the east coast. His parents still just wanted him to be happy), she delved into a bottle of rum that had probably been around since Ann moved out. By two in the morning she was in the same state she had been last summer when she figured out what was wrong with her.

It wasn't a fleeting, drunken thought, no matter how hard she had tried to will it away in the past year. And she was just getting so tired. When she could no longer see straight she searched for that video again and after pausing it twice to throw up in the bathroom, she managed to finish it.

He sounded like that tiny, persistent voice in her head, the one that was much more vocal and jovial back when she was Lucy. Back then, it told her she was okay and that being king of her toys was _okay. _Then her parents drowned it out almost completely. But her walls were down now, and she couldn't think and it was just so loud and it was so _right. _It was right about her.

Him. It was right about him.

She threw up three more times and cried until she passed out leaning against the bathroom wall.

When she woke up it was with an incredible headache in a silent house, remembering everything that had happened the night before. It was Saturday, and her mother was still in Cleveland. She shakily made it to her bed from the bathroom floor and collapsed for a few more hours to avoid thinking.

The next time she woke up it was because her phone was chiming on the nightstand. Sam had sent her a Facebook message (the family computer had been one of the things they didn't sell off over those few months) with a link to a music video and a note saying "been listening to these guys a lot lately, and this song reminded me of you. figured you might like it."

She didn't check the link until later, when the sun was starting to set and she had finally gotten out of bed. The first few bars of "Bloodbuzz Ohio" were the only thing that had calmed her down in the past twenty-four hours, but by the last refrain of "I'm on a bloodbuzz, God I am" she was crying again. She played it on a loop and went back through her browser history from the night before, without clearing it. Sober.

* * *

><p>In mid-July she got a letter from Shelby. It was polite, mostly just telling her about how Beth was doing and how she had become a terror since learning to walk. Shelby had included a couple of pictures of a beautiful girl with curly dirty blonde hair and a thousand yard stare that would probably scare a convicted serial killer if it wasn't coming from a child. But there was also one of her smiling, and when she was happy she looked so much like Puck, it was absurd.<p>

She knew she had done the right thing in giving Beth up. Objectively, she knew that. Shelby was a perfect mom, and Beth was getting to grow up in New York, and while _she_ could never live there, that was an incredible experience to have. But looking at those pictures made her feel so lost, because one moment the pangs of loss were so acute she felt like she was going to throw up, and the next she was taken back to when she was pregnant and it felt like an alien or a demon was growing inside her and stealing her body. She thought back to that brief time where she wanted nothing more than for that baby to just not exist, because she couldn't handle what it was doing to her head, not to mention the rest of her.

The feeling of guilt that washed over her was crippling. She burned the letter, shoved the pictures underneath the sweaters in the bottom drawer of her dresser, closed the curtains, and slept for twelve hours.

Two days later Sam told her he was moving to Kentucky. He showed up at her door on a night that her mother was actually home. They exchanged pleasantries and Judy actually seemed sorry he was moving away, although as far as she could recall, they had only met once or twice. She took him into the den, because her mother had not stepped foot in there since she had left her father. He told her that his dad had gotten a job offer doing construction that he couldn't pass up. It was full time work for a decent salary in a nice, if small, city called Independence. The glee kids were throwing him a going away party the next day, but he figured (correctly) that she wouldn't want to come. So he brought over a copy of _Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind_ that he borrowed from the library (but had no intention of returning) for them to watch together.

Miyazaki films were one of the few dorky things he got her to like when they dated, and it was one of the many things she missed about him after they broke up. Like how she wished she could get to Narnia through her closet when she was a kid, part of her wished she could live as Nausicaa or San from _Princess Mononoke_. They appeared lonely, but were happy in the solitude. They were beautiful. And okay. They lived content in nature, seeing beauty where everyone else refused. There were times she wished she could live like that. She leaned against him on the couch and they watched in comfortable silence.

"I'm going to miss you," she said as the end credits rolled.

"Me too."

She laughed. " Figures. I think you're the only friend I have left."

"What about Santana and Brittany?

"They're too wrapped up in each other to really care about anyone else. Can't say I blame them when they make each other so happy."

"You know everyone in glee cares about you, right?" he said after a moment.

"They care when they have to. Like whenever something going on with me affects the club, or affects Finn, or Rachel. Again, can't blame them, I'd do the same thing if I were in their shoes. I _ did _do they same thing. And worse."

"Yeah, but-"

"No, Sam," she said firmly. "I just-I can't do that anymore. I'm done with it."

He sat quiet, looking at her oddly.

"What?" she asked.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, you're done with glee," he said.

"Yes," she stated, getting a little exasperated.

"Good. Because I think that's the first time I've ever heard you be honest about what you actually wanted, right now."

"Don't be a condescending ass."

"I'm not, I'm just telling you the truth. And you have to want some things just for yourself Quinn, just to be happy."

She knew that. And him telling her wasn't going to magically fix anything, but he was right. And maybe she was figuring out a way to get to okay, or someday, happy without even realizing it.

When she hugged him on her porch before he left, she was sad, but significantly less tired.

* * *

><p>Over the next week she watched that "coming out as trans" video five more times. Sober and in the daylight. By the fifth time she could get all the way through it without pausing or trembling too bad. His name was Ryan and he just…he sounded like her. He was okay as a kid, but as soon as he started growing up and puberty hit, everything felt wrong. His body wasn't his anymore, it belonged to a person he didn't recognize, but yet he still had to live inside it. He suffered through it for years, until he realized what was wrong.<p>

She got a nose job and contacts, and for a minute, she felt better. Or at least she thought she felt better, because she was supposed to. Then there was power to maintain and a reputation to uphold and parents to make proud. It was their investment, and they didn't want to see it go to waste on Lucy.

But she was Ryan.

Her breathing was shaky, but she managed to keep it together. She stood and looked at herself in the mirror, really looked at herself, for the first time in months, and saw everything that was wrong. It was all wrong. She went to the closet in the hallway and found an old Ace bandage that was used for her frequent twisted ankles after she first took up cheerleading. Back in her room she rummaged through her dresser and found a pair of jeans she had worn for a glee performance and an old cheer camp t-shirt. With her back turned to the mirror she took off her dress and pulled on the jeans, then wrapped the bandage around her chest and threw on the oversized shirt.

It was absolutely ridiculous looking, but the bandage flattened her breasts and the shirt hung loosely, hiding her hips. She pulled her hair back and left her bangs hanging in her face. Then she really looked in the mirror again. It was a bit better. It made her feel better. She didn't realize how awful she felt until it was almost better. She didn't know it could feel better.

She squeezed her eyes tight and tensed her body tight to keep back the tears because she couldn't bear feeling that much fear and relief at once.

* * *

><p>She met Mack in early August while trying to figure out a way to bide her time. She was terrified of what she might be, but couldn't go back to school and pretend like nothing had changed anymore. She was finally more scared of what ignoring it would do to her, so she had to find a way to keep everyone away.<p>

Mack was a fifth year senior who had led the Skanks since she was a sophomore. No matter what the halls of McKinley looked like every day, who was cool, who wasn't, or whatever gossip was going around, no one messed with the Skanks. She bought some pink hair dye from CVS and ripped up an old black t-shirt she got from Goodwill and just started hanging out in front of the 7-11 when she knew Mack was getting off her shift.

It didn't take long to get in, pretending to not give a shit and having money for cigarettes was all it really all she needed. After she bought them a carton of Marlboro's to share, they took her to get her nose pierced at this shady shop, and that sealed the deal. She switched into head cheerleader mode and adapted, taking charge by the time school started, Mack was getting tired of finding freshmen to torture anyway. It was far from perfect, but it was going to keep the glee club away, and everyone else from asking the right questions.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is where things officially go AU. Shelby and Beth will not be coming back to Lima, again, because I cannot write the level of crazy that saddled Quinn with. Also, Sam will be staying in Kentucky. Other than that, thanks to anyone who has been reading this. I appreciate it.

* * *

><p>When she wasn't out learning to smoke behind convenience stores (Marlboro's tasted awful, but they calmed her down immensely) or rolling kids who stayed after school for cigarette money, she spent her evenings locked away in her room, chest bound tight, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do. She watched more videos and read blogs and guides to gender identity and being transgender. So many people online made it seem easy; they'd known since they were five, and had come out when they were fourteen and had new names and surgery and whatever else. They headed up progressive GSAs in small minded towns and went on Oprah or Tyra. They couldn't be real. They seemed happy, or at least content. None of them had ever been a pregnant and scared sixteen year old girl, or had already gotten the chance to change their entire life just so they could be happy and part of a family that was proud of who they were and what they accomplished.<p>

Part of her still hoped that this was still just a phase brought on by her parent's divorce or lingering depression from giving up Beth. But the more videos she watched and blogs she read, the less likely it became. The repeated sentiments of feeling wrong and hating a body that they had no say in, the more they rang true, the less she was able to excuse it away. And there were small glimmers of hope that she could maybe get out of Lima someday; she figured it was more worth the effort to try and get out rather than fighting and exhausting batter against what was going on in her head.

She could never tell anyone in that small, stupid town, but maybe, if she got out, she would have a chance. Maybe he would have a chance to be real.

* * *

><p>Walking down the halls with the Skanks was a lot like walking down them as head cheerleader. Heads turned, and people stopped and stared, mostly with confusion, but there was still fear and awe in their eyes. No one wanted to fuck with her because the abrupt mystery was just as intimidating as a Cheerios uniform and an icy stare.<p>

Acting indifferent towards Santana, Brittany and Rachel was more difficult than she had expected, because there were points where she cared about all of them (Rachel not as much, more so the general concept of glee that she stood for). But there was absolutely no way she could go back, she needed to keep her distance to get out alive and in one piece, not in the fragments that would inevitably line the highway from Lima to OSU if she stayed attached to them. This version of her was no more real than the blonde cheerleader who had ruled McKinley for the past three years, but at least this lie had felt like a deliberate choice, one that she had finally made on her own.

* * *

><p>Once school had started up again, her mother was around the house a lot more and drinking a lot less. She could tell because they didn't even go through a whole bottle of vodka that first week of her senior year. She had a consistent work schedule and was home at least twice a week to make dinner and try to engage in awkward small talk over spaghetti or baked chicken breasts.<p>

One night in early October they were silently eating salad and her mother had this incredibly worried look on her face. She was not about to start talking, because that look alone scared her to death, like Judy could see right through her and everything that was eating away at her stomach.

"Quinn, are-how is school going?"

"What?" She was thrown, she didn't expect her mother to actually try and talk to her.

"School. It's your senior year. How is it going? Have you thought about your college applications yet?"

She stared dumbly at her salad. This was a conversation she knew they had to have, because she had no idea if they could actually afford to send her to college.

"It-I mean, I guess it's fine. Easy. Compared to last year anyway," she said.

"That's good."

They both picked at their food in awkward silence for long minutes.

"Do we even have the money for me to go college?"

"Your father and I set up savings accounts for you and Ann when you were born to make sure there was at least _something, _but it's not going to cover everything. You're going to have to take out loans, but if you wanted to stay in state, it might not be as bad."

Panic flooded her at the thought of staying in Ohio, but she didn't want her mother to see how scared that made her. Hell, these dinners were indication enough that she knew something was wrong with her _daughter. _

"I don't think I want to stay here. I've actually been looking at schools on the east coast. Boston, maybe."

Actually, she was pretty firmly settled on Boston. And there were enough schools there that she was bound to get into at least one of them.

Her mother's eyes softened a bit at that. "I've always loved Boston. I used to have family there, we would visit a lot when I was younger."

The silence after that was a bit more comfortable.

"Have you ever read Kerouac?" Judy said out of nowhere.

"Jack Kerouac?"

"Yes. I really think you'd like On The Road. My freshman English professor recommended it to me, obviously years and years ago, but it has always stuck with me."

"No, I've never read it," she said, trying to hide a confused look.

"My old copy of it might still be in the attic. I can look for it if you'd like," Judy said after taking a long sip from her wine glass.

"Uh, sure. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Alright, good."

She finished her salad and took her plate back into the kitchen, leaving her mother at the table with a look of deep concentration on her face and a half-empty glass of chardonnay.

* * *

><p>The next day Judy made good on her promise and left an old, battered paperback copy of <em>On The Road<em> on her dresser. She flipped through the pages and saw her mother's neat handwriting doting many of them. There were _a lot_ of notes, maybe she'd ask why someday.

She put the book on her desk and opened Skype on her computer. She and Sam tried to call each other once a week, but as school got crazier and application deadlines loomed in the near future, it slipped to every couple of weeks. She dialed and he picked up almost immediately. They chatted aimlessly about school and Sam's family (his new school was fine, he got to play football and take an art elective, and the guidance counselor had actually been really helpful in figuring out college applications). He had picked up a job working weekends at a Dairy Queen, which he hated, but they could order pizza a couple times a month, or Stevie could get a comic book every once in a while, which Sam was more than happy to pay for, and it just made things a bit more normal. He asked about the glee kids, and she tried her best to ignore the slightly sad look on his face when she had nothing to say.

"Did you finish any of your applications yet?" she asked, mostly just to change the subject.

"Yeah, most of them actually. Figured it'd just be easier to get 'em all over with, y'know? UArts, the Philly one? That's done. Plus the one in DC and a couple of the Kentucky schools."

"Well, I have my fingers crossed for you it doesn't come down to those."

"Tell me about it, but rather be safe then sorry, right? How about you?" he asked.

"I haven't finished any of them yet. I'm stuck on that stupid personal essay."

"You know, you do have a lot of material to draw from."

"I'm not going to write about having a baby or getting kicked out just to get into college. That's none of their business."

"Yeah, but if it helps-"

"I'm not doing it, Sam," she cut him off, coldly

"Sorry Quinn, you know I didn't mean anything."

"I know, it's just-" she fumbled around for the book. "My mother gave me this today. It's an old book she read when she was in college. It's about these guys who drive across the country and to Mexico, I don't know, but she seemed really adamant about me reading. Or as adamant as she can get about anything."

"What is it? I can't see."

"On the Road. Jack Kerouac," she said.

"I think my uncle really liked it, but he's super out there. Are you going to read it?"

"I guess. I mean, why not?"

Sam paused for a moment. "Are you okay, Quinn?"

She was startled by the abrupt question, and wondered what might have given her away. "I'm fine, why?"

"I dunno, 'cause you're mom is trying to talk, or connect with you or whatever. You seem…weird. More weird than normal lately."

"I'm-"she began to say.

She felt an overwhelming urge to tell him everything, just blurt it all out, about last year and the pink hair and plaid shirts and that she was just so fucking scared that the book was her mom's way of finally catching on. But he was just getting settled into a normal life again, and that wasn't fair.

"I'm okay, Sam." she said. "Really. I guess I'm just thrown off by her giving me On the Road and how she's trying to care now."

"Better late than never."

"That's crap."

"Maybe you should just let her try, 'cause she is trying."

She became overwhelmingly angry in an instant. She didn't want her to try, because their distant relationship had been what made it easy for her to keep it together. Trying to hide it from her, that might be too much, and they definitely did not have nearly enough vodka in the house for her to deal with it.

"She should've tried two years ago when my father fucking kicked me out," she said and disconnected the call.

Her hands shook and her heart was racing so fast she thought she might pass out.

* * *

><p>Late that night she created a new Youtube account attached to a new e-mail address that even Jacob Ben Israel couldn't connect back to her. She went to Ryan's profile and spent an hour working up the courage to send him a message.<p>

_Subject: "Coming out as trans" video_

_I hope you don't mind me sending you this message. I think watching your video on coming out made me realize that I'm transgender. Even writing it is so nerve wracking and difficult, but I've been feeling all the things you talked about feeling for years now. I think I'm a guy, and I just needed to tell someone, because I'm starting to feel crazy keeping this to myself. I just can't tell anyone here, and it's significantly less terrifying to say it to someone who doesn't even know who you are._

_Yeah, I just needed to actually say it to someone out in the world. And I'm sorry if I'm unloading on you. You can ignore this if you want, I won't take it personally._

_But thank you anyways._

_-Q_

After she sent the message, she took a few shaky breaths and closed out of the window. It was done, and she couldn't take it back. The thought of _someone _knowing was actually a bit of a relief. She grabbed the Ace bandage she now kept hidden under her mattress and wrapped up her chest, turned on The National, then grabbed Kerouac from her desk and began to read.

* * *

><p>The bell had just rung, and students were filtering out into the hallway. She made her way through the crowd (more like it parted for her, still, even though the shock had worn off weeks ago) when Sue blocked the path to her locker.<p>

"What, Coach?"

"Well I'm glad to see the hair dye hasn't seeped so far into your brain that you have been rendered unable to speak in sentences."

"I'm not your minion anymore, so I really don't have time or patience to stand here and let you insult me," she said.

"There's that fire in the belly I've always admired you for. You always were ruthless, Q, and that's why I have a little favor to ask."

"Not interested." She moved to walk past Sue, but she shifted again to stand in front of her.

"No one's as good as you, and since you're no longer attached to the glee club like an overly emotional leech, I figured you could do a little digging for me. As you may know, I'm running for Congress, but Porcelain's lovably salt-of-the-earth father has entered the race, and his simple, man of the people attitude is costing me in the polls. I need you to get some dirt on Baboon Heart McGee, see if the sweet lady boy has any idea how many years his old man's new primate organ will hold up before inevitably collapsing under the stress of the humble meat and potatoes diet of a blue collar grease monkey, minus the potatoes," Sue said.

"That's disgusting, even for you. Get one of your Cheerio lackeys to do your dirty work for you."

"I could get you some thrift store furniture for your new friends' undoubtedly disease ridden, and very much against school policy, smoking spot under the bleachers. I can also get you and those mouth breathers out of detention for the rest of the year."

"No, and I hope Mr. Hummel kicks your ass."

She walked past Sue and headed straight for the exit, she had study hall fourth period anyway, no one would notice if she skipped. She was pissed and needed to get away from all of Sue's ridiculous plans and petty scheming. When she got to the bleachers, she saw that Santana was already out there smoking.

"I'm not encroaching on Skanks territory or whatever, am I?" Santana said.

"Like you would care regardless." They were both quiet for a moment. "Brittany's going to kill you if she finds out you're smoking," she said.

"She already knows, but she pretends not to so she doesn't have to get mad at me about it. Besides, I'm more worried about Sylvester. You see her on your way out? She's been trying to bust me on smoking for, like, a year now."

"Why do you think I'm out here?" She lit her own cigarette and took a long drag. "Also, cloves, really? Are you twelve?"

"You keep raising your eyebrow, and it's going to get stuck on your fucking bitchy face like that. Whatever, the smell bugs Britt less, and they take forever to smoke. It's a good excuse to stay out longer."

Santana finished her cigarette and stubbed it out on the ground. She offered her one of her Marlboro's, but Santana declined. They both leaned against the concrete ledge and stared out through the slats of the bleachers to the empty football field.

"Come back to glee, Quinn. They miss you. I honestly didn't think they would, but even Rachel has been lamenting your absence in her own obnoxious, condescending way. I could, I dunno, get Marty McVest to sign off on a Donna's number or whatever to embrace the new you even," Santana said.

She chuckled to herself. "You know, I think Coach just tried to tell me the same thing, in some sort of twisted way. It doesn't have anything to do with you guys, or not getting solos, or even Rachel being an annoying bitch most of the time."

"Then what the fuck is your problem? Aside from looking like a Hot Topic threw up on you."

"I need to get out of this town and away from all the awful things that happen here. It's not going to happen if I stay in that downward spiral of infighting and drama just to dance in the background. It was fun and all, but it's not worth getting stuck here."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

She sighed. "You don't have to get it. I just need to focus on me and getting the hell out of here. And this is the only way I can do it."

"Bullshit."

"Shut up, Santana. I need to figure some shit out and the only way I can do it is by myself, alright? I figured you of all of them would at least get that."

"What? Are you gay now too?" Santana said, immediately shutting her mouth after and staring past Quinn.

"No, I'm not," she said quietly. "Are you okay?"

"You're the only person I've told besides Britt," she said, sinking down to the ground.

"I mean, we all know."

"But…fuck. It's different, y'know?"

She sat down next to Santana. "Yeah, I do."

They sat in silence until they heard the bell ring inside.

"I hope you figure your shit out, Q," Santana said, getting up to head to her next class.

"Thanks, San. I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you."

She lit another cigarette and watched Santana walk back into the building.

* * *

><p>When she got home, after a detour to the library to finish <em>On the Road <em>in peace, a new message appeared in her inbox.

_Re: "Coming out as trans" video_

_Dear Q, I don't mind the message at all. I'm glad my video could be helpful to someone._

_I can't tell you what to do, and I'm definitely not in any place to offer you anything resembling professional advice. I can only speak from my experience, but a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders when I told someone. Just having one person know, and be okay with me being a guy validated my identity. It made me feel like a real person again. It helped give me the strength to start telling other people, because I knew I had at least one person in my corner, but I know coming out is scary and can be very dangerous and not possible depending on where you live or what your family situation is like. Do you have a close friend or someone you can trust to keep it in confidence? Maybe try talking to them about trans stuff, like bringing up and article you read or something you saw on TV, and if the response is positive, maybe come out. You don't have to tell the world, or even anyone else, but it's hard to do alone, that much I do know, and someone having your back makes surviving and getting through high school a lot easier. If you don't have anyone you can talk to, I know a few websites that do online pen-pal/mentoring type things, and I can get you that info, they can set you up with just a person to talk to about whatever, doesn't have to be trans stuff._

_I don't know how much it means from a person you've never met, but you are whoever you say you are. People are going to try and tell you that you're wrong, but no one knows you better than yourself, or whatever that saying is. Just try to keep that in mind. If you know you're a guy or trans or whatever, then that's who you are._

_-Ryan _

She reread the message until her vision began to blur from the tears welling up in her eyes. He didn't reject her; he told her she was fine.

Him. He was fine, or at least he wasn't crazy. And someone _knew. _Ryan knew and he didn't care. Ryan told him he was whoever he said he was.

He was not her.

He wiped at his cheeks with his hand and rummaged through his backpack to get his mother's book out. The glow from the screen acted as a book light as he searched for a passage that had been marked well, underlined emphatically with scribbled notes in the margins that were illegible, the only ones he couldn't read in the entire book.

"_I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was — I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds."_

He wished he could have a conversation with Jack Kerouac about not knowing who you are for seventeen years. The idea struck him as perfect nonsense for a college essay, and he chuckled to himself, which slowly turned into a full nonsensical laugh. Luckily his mother wasn't home, otherwise she really would be concerned, and the thought sobered him quickly, but he opened up a new Word doc and began to write about a fictional meeting with a beatnik.

* * *

><p>By the end of November he had finally finished his last applications (to Boston College and Suffolk University). After signing his (her?) name and stuffing the one to BC in an envelope to hand to Ms. Pillsbury she texted Sam and asked if they could talk on Skype.<p>

It had been over a month since Ryan had messaged him, and he had been working on the best way to tell Sam, because he was finally ready. Knowing for sure and still being stuck as Quinn Fabray, no matter what the hair color or who she hung out with, was starting to weigh just as heavily as when he was drunkenly googling everything that could be wrong with him. Someone real needed to know; someone he truly cared about needed to know.

He began to pick at the skin around his fingers, an old nervous tick from when he was younger. At some point, his parents had managed to get him to stop, through a series of threats and shame, but without drinking to calm his nerves, this was the best he could do.

Sam called moments after he began fidgeting, and he waited a few seconds, taking a couple of deep breaths before picking up.

"Hey, Quinn. What's up?" Sam said.

"Not a lot, I just finished the last of my applications. The long nightmare is finally over."

"Awesome! I would try to high five you, but I figured out that it's really, really lame to do over webcam."

They both laughed, but he humored Sam anyway and put his palm up to the camera, and he returned the gesture.

"I'm transgender, Sam. I'm a guy," he blurted out, while still giggling a bit.

Sam became solemn immediately and was silent on the other end, but he saw the confused look on his face.

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam said, tentatively.

He took a deep breath. "I'm a guy."

"You're a-holy shit, Quinn."

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that, it just came out. I mean, I was going to tell you anyway, but I didn't mean to just say it like that. Shit."

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was not going the way he had planned. Sam sounded confused and looked upset. He was fucked and immediately lonely at the thought of losing him now.

"Quinn, are you alright? Are-are you sure?"

He looked at Sam and nodded. "I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't sure. I just-you don't have to understand everything right now, I just need you to be my friend and not hate me for this."

Sam was quiet again, rocking back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

"I don't hate you. I just don't know what to say."

"I know it's a lot to hear."

"That's an understatement," he said, letting out a weak laugh. "Okay…shit. Alright, I'm going to come up this weekend. I'll buy a bus ticket and call Finn and ask if I can crash at his place for a couple days."

"Sam you don't-"

"Yeah, I do. Because you're my best friend and this is kinda scary and we can't just talk over Skype and pretend that it's okay to do it like that. Okay?"

"Okay. Yeah. Just let me know when you're going to be getting in, I'll pick you up."

Sam looked him in the eye for the first time in two long minutes. "Are you going to be okay? Until I get there and we can, like, actually talk about this? Because I love you, Quinn, like, well, I guess like a brother now."

"Yeah, I'll be alright until Friday. Thanks, Sam. I love you too, you know."

"Okay, I'll see you Friday." Sam disconnected the line.

He was pretty sure this was the first time he had cried happy tears in his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday night he sat in the parking lot of the Lima bus station, waiting for Sam. He had _Boxer _playing on a loop and was mumbling along to "Squalor Victoria" when Sam tapped on the window of his car and let himself in.

"You really dig these guys?" Sam said, trying to cut the obvious tension.

"Yeah. I never actually thanked you for that. So, thanks."

"No problem."

They sat quiet for a long while. He finally pulled out of the parking lot and set out towards home.

"You want me to drop you off at Finn's? Just so you can throw your stuff there?"

"Actually, I'm staying with Mike. You know where he lives?"

"Yeah, he's not too far from Santana's. Lima Heights Adjacent, my ass."

That earned him a small chuckle from Sam. "He said he was gonna invite a bunch of people over to hang out or whatever. Mostly glee, I think. He told me that hanging out was a condition of getting the guest bedroom, but I think he was mostly joking. I can just drop my stuff off and then-"

"No, go hang out with them. It's probably for the best, anyways. They're your friends, just, if they ask about me, don't say anything." Sam gave him a look. "We can talk tomorrow."

Sam took a breath. "Yeah, okay. I'm sure you're more than welcome to come with."

He didn't even respond to that.

"I mean, I figured. It was worth a shot," Sam said, and sighed. "How are you doing?"

"I don't know. Better, I guess. Better now."

Sam didn't say anything back, just nodded and began tapping out the beat of the song on the armrest while staring out the windshield until they got to Mike's.

* * *

><p>Around one in the morning he got a text from Sam. He was already asleep (or, at least, trying to), but checked it anyway, figuring he was probably drunk and maybe someone needed a ride home. As much as he wanted to avoid glee kids, he wasn't going to let one of them try to kill themselves by driving like a moron.<p>

_should i still call you quinn? obv not in front of people but do you have a new name or something? i was reading this thing that said trans people pick new names a lot of the time_

Sam was obviously drunk, there was no way he would be that forward in asking a question ever.

He flipped his phone open and tried six times to write out a response, but he hadn't actually thought about his name much. It was just there, and it meant something to him four years ago when he first asked his parents to call him that, but now, Quinn was a lot like Lucy. Quinn was a different person, a host he was living in because he had to in order to survive.

_Quinn for now, I guess. I haven't really thought about it, _he finally wrote back.

A few minutes later, his phone chimed again.

_okay man. im probably going to ask a lot more stpid questions like that, but i tried reading some stuff so i won't. see u tomorrow_

He didn't respond, just felt a wave of relief pass over him. At least one person would have his back.

* * *

><p>His mother had left for Dayton early Saturday for a breast cancer walk that her new book club, or something, was participating in. It was hard to keep track, but the past few times she had actually left notes with where she was going to be, and she had only gone off a handful of times since the semester had started.<p>

He spent the morning flicking through television channels and nervously tapping his foot. Sam hadn't called or texted him since the night before, and he was starting to doubt that either of them was really, actually ready to have this conversation sober and in the daylight. But halfway through an episode of _Pawn Stars _the doorbell rang and he opened the door to find Sam, hands in his pockets and staring at the shoes he was scuffing against the porch.

"Did you walk here? It's freezing," he said.

"It's not that far. Besides, it was a long night, I figured it would help clear my head up a bit."

He let Sam in and they went back to the den, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, and watched the rest of the episode.

"I've always thought that picture of Jim Morrison looked like She-Hulk," Sam said, breaking the quiet.

"That's probably why no one has ever bought it."

"Probably."

The episode ended and abruptly switched over to a documentary from the 90's about the Ku Klux Klan. He reached for the remote and quickly shut it off, leaving awkward silence between them.

"So," he began.

"Yeah." Sam ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. "You're a guy." He didn't say it like a question, more just a statement of fact.

"Something like that, yeah. I mean, I feel like I'm one. Or that I should have been one. Or-god, I don't know," he said while staring at the ceiling and trying to avoid eye contact.

"How long have you known?"

"I think since I got pregnant, maybe since I was a little kid. I really don't know. I mean, I only figured it out this summer. The name for it, you know? But I couldn't admit it to myself. And the only reason I did was because I thought I had a chance of getting out of this stupid city, because I can't be whatever this is here. I just can't," he rushed out.

"Fuck, Quinn."

He laughed. "Yeah, I know."

Sam turned to look at him. "Why did you go out with me?"

"I liked you. That wasn't a lie. Yeah, part of me just wanted to feel normal, like I was supposed to, and you made it easy to ignore whatever was gnawing at me." He laughed again. "When I broke up with you, I always told myself that I could never tell you why, because you'd think I was crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy."

"I needed to have a friend, Sam, and you're the most kind, decent person I've ever met. I needed you to be here, right now. And that wouldn't have happened if we kept dating and eventually broke up anyways and went our separate ways to college or whatever. I loved you, a lot more than as my boyfriend. I was just really, I don't know, messed up in my head, and didn't know how to tell you that and still keep you in my life. So, I was awful to you instead. I didn't mean to, I just needed to make sure, but also have someone else there so I could keep being seen as normal, so I could feel that way. Finn was just easy, because you know, I'd been there before, and he would never catch on, because he means well, but he just isn't perceptive at all."

"Dude, I think this is the most I've ever heard you talk at once."

"It feels weird," he said, and made a face that had them both chuckling.

Sam sobered quickly, though. "What are you gonna do?"

He was quiet again for a long while, trying to come up with an answer. Being part of the Skanks and keeping his head low and just getting out was immediate, but he had no idea after that.

"I don't know, Sam. I just-I don't know."

"Are you going to tell anyone else?"

"No. I'd get eaten alive at school and get a hundred times more shit than Kurt ever did. My mother would probably just kick me out again. No one can know. Promise me you won't say anything."

"I never would. You know that."

He sank back into the couch and threw a hand over his eyes. A panic began welling up inside him again at the thought of someone _knowing_. Someone real, right in front of him, acting like a saint in just being a friend. Sam scooted down the couch and threw an arm around him to try and hug him, but he fell forward holding his head in his hands, breathing hard and trying not to try and break completely.

"Hey, whoa. It'll be okay, Quinn," Sam said, putting a hand on his back. "It'll be alright."

"Fuck," he breathed out, and leaned into Sam's side.

"It's okay. There's nothing wrong with you, you know that, right?"

"I would really beg to differ," he said with a weak laugh.

"But really. You'll figure this out, and you'll get into Northwestern or Harvard or something and just be whoever you are."

"I'm not going to Harvard. Didn't even apply."

"Whatever, doesn't matter. You'll get out of here, and it'll be alright."

"Thanks, Sam. God, I hope so."

Sam held him awkwardly by his side for a long while. He could see their reflections in the television, and in the distorted blur, he didn't see Quinn Fabray. He saw a shaggy haired guy and his best friend, maybe five years from now. It was the first concrete picture he had of a future that wasn't constructed for him by his family's legacy and a fear of shame.

"Can I ask you something? Like, kinda personal?" Sam said, breaking his train of thought.

"I guess."

"Okay, this is going to be one of those stupid questions, so, are you like-are you gay now? Like, a gay guy?"

"You could ask me pretty much anything right now, and you want to know if I'm gay?"

Sam gave him a sheepish grin. "Might as well get it all out at once, right?"

He just shook his head and shoved him with his shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe? I did _like _you and Finn. A lot of those feelings were real. But I don't know if I even have the energy to figure that out too. Why? Worried I might try to date you again?"

"No, jeez! I was just, y'know, wondering. Just trying to be a friend, Quinn."

Sam pushed off him and stood. "Is there anything to eat in your house that isn't, like, salad? That was so emotionally draining, I'm starving."

There wasn't, so they went to the local diner and ordered bacon cheeseburgers, and after, spent the rest of the night driving around, Sam asking dumb questions he couldn't figure out through google and making fun of his mall rat gothic look, and him feeling surprisingly okay answering them and hitting him in the shoulder.

* * *

><p>He picked up Sam from Mike's early Sunday morning to drive him back to the bus station. Sam fiddled with the radio dial, but couldn't find anything except sermons and bad country music, so he shut it off instead. They were quiet, but it was no longer uncomfortable. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the window while Sam glared at him in a playful way.<p>

It was the best he had felt in years

* * *

><p>AN: This is the last chapter I had stockpiled up, so the next one probably won't be posted for another week or so. Thanks again for the reviews and kind words, I truly appreciate it.


	6. Chapter 6

After his weekend with Sam, there was only three weeks until the beginning of a much needed Christmas break. Some days were better than others. Most he spent silently working through his classes, using his lunches and free periods to shake down underclassmen with the Skanks. Tendencies toward misdemeanor aside, they weren't awful friends to have around.

He began wearing jeans every day, skinny jeans, but pants nonetheless, and baggy black shirts from Urban Outfitters and Forever 21 that hid his unbound chest relatively well. It was weird at first. Even after his summer makeover, the short denim skirts and and weird black dresses he sometimes wore kept him tied to the last three years of his life, and they were oddly comforting. They acted as another barrier between him and the rest of the world that still wanted to take bits and pieces of his body. They had made him feel normal, even though it was always a false sense, because after all even when he ruled the school he was barely keeping it together. He got pregnant because he wanted to prove to himself that he was normal. But jeans and t-shirts and slouchy knit hats began to feel more normal than anything else had in a long time, even if it had Coach Sylvester making snide comments at him every week (although it was pretty impressive she could think up so many unique insults) and his former teammates, on the Cheerios and in the glee club, looking at him like he had finally gone insane.

He took solace in the fact that he had never felt this together, even if it was still tenuous, and actually thinking about what he was still terrified him most nights when he was alone and restless. But he could finally look at himself in the mirror with his contacts in and see someone he almost liked, someone who wasn't Quinn Fabray.

* * *

><p>Two days after Christmas his mother had sent him out to return a horrendous sweater she had gotten from her sister who lived in Denver, and in theory spend some of the money he had gotten from her, even though he had every intention of just putting it away in his savings account. He did it anyways, because the past couple of months had been the closest to normal that the two of them had ever gotten. They still didn't talk much, and he was lucky if he saw her five days in a given week, but there was a mutual understanding that wasn't there before. Or his father had gotten in the way of it. They spent the holiday together, just the two of them. Judy made a turkey breast for Christmas Eve dinner, and in the morning they exchanged a couple of gifts and watched Rudolph, because somehow, she had remembered it was his favorite as a kid. They were something approaching okay, and so he did things like return ugly Christmas sweaters because his mom asked him to.<p>

He walked through the mall on his way to Macy's, stopping at a few stores to window shop. A men's pea coat in J. Crew caught his attention, and while looking at it an employee came up behind him and asked him if he needed any help, "sir," before quickly correcting himself and apologizing once he had turned around.

It was the first time he had ever been called sir, and a small part of him wanted to jump on the guy and hug him, but mostly he just felt weirdly okay with it. It was a bizarre feeling, but having someone else validate his identity, who he didn't know, made it feel right, that he was right about all of the confusion and panic and desperation he had experienced over the past three years. Of all the things in the world, this is what made him feel a little less crazy. He wanted the J. Crew guy and the Macy's cashier and whoever else to see him as a guy. He _definitely _wanted that, and had never felt so sure of it. Nothing had ever really felt that right before.

Politely, he excused himself, and made his way over to Macy's. He pulled his oversized bomber jacket closed in an attempt to better conceal his chest and tugged his black knit hat further down to hide faded pink hair that he really had no interest in re-dying. Mack thought the jacket made him look like Patches, the homeless Vietnam veteran who lived by the library, but it was large enough to really hide his body without being comical, so he could deal with her jabs at it.

The store was crowded and the line for the return counter was long, so he went to browse in hopes that it would die down. A table of ties caught his attention, and he thought absently about how he hadn't gotten his father anything for Christmas (although he hadn't gotten him anything either), and how, hopefully, he never would have to again.

"Quinn!" Mercedes shouted from a few racks over.

He snapped out of his haze and froze, hoping that Mercedes would think she was mistaken. But she had gotten a full glimpse and had already started heading over. She pulled him into a strong hug that he attempted to return in earnest.

"Girl, I haven't seen you in forever. How are you?" She was being polite, and seemed genuinely interested in how his life was going. It was as if months of silence, him quitting glee had never really happened.

"I've been alright," he said, shrugging to try and hide his panic.

His mind raced while he tried to engage in meaningless small talk. The club had won sectionals, obviously, and were starting to prepare for regionals. He nodded and interjected vaguely while Mercedes rambled on about everyone. But he had been transported back two years to when he knew there was something wrong with him, that he wasn't right at all. The rush he had gotten being called "sir" vanished immediately, and was replaced by a frustration and fear that made his eyes feel like welling up.

He gave some half-assed excuse about needing to get home to help his mother with something, and left with vague promises to hang out sometime soon to catch up properly. Practically running out of the store, he rushed back to his car and cried. There was no way in hell he was ever going to be the person that got called sir, not when there were people out there who knew him when he was homeless and pregnant and scared out of his mind. He smashed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration and felt so fucking lost.

When he got home he rushed immediately to his room, throwing off his jacket and shirt. He grabbed the Ace bandage under the mattress and wrapped his chest so tight he could barely breathe. The constriction gave him something focus on, and once he managed calmed down a bit, he loosened the binding and took deep, shuddering breaths. He put his shirt back on and laid back on his bed for hours, trying to get back that brief memory of feeling like something was finally going to be all right.

The sweater sat in his backseat for months, unreturned. His mother never asked about it.

* * *

><p>The third week of January Mack and the Skanks scrounged up ten bucks to give him for his birthday. Even though it had been the week before, he was surprised they even remembered at all. Mack told him to use it to buy his first legal pack of cigarettes, which was a sweet and bizarre gesture that reminded him that other than Sam, they were the only friends he had left.<p>

After school they piled in his car and drove to the 7-11. They only hassled the clerk a bit, and he bought his first pack of Marlboro's with his own ID, which, in the back of his mind, he knew was an awful idea, that he should trash them and quit sooner rather than later. But Sheila lent him her lighter, and they hung out in his car in the back of the parking lot listening to classic rock. Sure, they weren't all that smart, and more often than not made choices that at the very least were questionable, but they distracted him. Ronnie was hilarious. Sheila had an encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies. Mack was like Santana in a lot of ways, not necessarily book smart like her, but a badass incredibly quick with a good insult. Plus she was actually from Lima Heights Adjacent.

They didn't want or expect anything from him, and it was just such a relief. Sometimes he felt like he could tell them, and they just wouldn't care, just treat him as they always had. He had elaborate daydreams of Mack jokingly hitting on him and Ronnie giving him shit for the fake Ryan Seacrest tattoo he put on that first week of school and some of the awful skirts he wore when he first started hanging out with them. They would be okay with it, with him. Or with the idea of him being him.

The buzz of his phone snapped him out of his daydream.

_dude, finally beat the last golden sun game. Just thought you should know what an awesome boss slayer i am. We still skyping tonight? _Sam texted him.

He snorted to himself and typed out a reply. _Great. You can tell me all about it._

He slid his phone shut and turned to face the backseat as best he could. Realistically, he knew he could never tell them. They were pretty much the only things left in Lima that kept him sane and grounded in reality. Without them he'd be drifting, helplessly, and after the past three years of feeling so alone and lost, even when he had "friends" or a boyfriend, he probably couldn't make it again. Sam was great, he was his best friend, but he was four hours away. Ironically, he had become too soft hanging out with the Skanks. He got used to the company, and having people around just to talk to or have a little human interaction with. He couldn't deal with the possibility of them telling anyone or just absolutely rejecting him.

He switched the radio over to a jazz station from a few towns away that came in faint, but without too much static. Mack protested and moved to change it back, but he told her it was his car and his radio and his birthday (a week late), so she backed off.

Pushing the seat back, he stared at the curls of smoke gathering at the roof of the car, paying half attention while Sheila told a funny story about her uncle's parrot.

* * *

><p>He got his letter from Boston College exactly on April 1st. Waitlisted. Over the next two weeks, the rest of them came in. Northeastern flat out rejected him, which was mildly disappointing, but he really only applied to see if he could get in. The rest of them, Suffolk, Clark, and the University of Massachusetts, all sent fat acceptance envelopes. The one from Clark had come in first, and the day he got it, he sat in his room and cried for an hour.<p>

He was getting out. He was finally getting out of Lima and all of its toxic memories. He was going to be where no one knew who he was, a former cheerleader and pregnant, homeless disappointment. He could finally be no one. All he had to do was hold out until August, which immediately seemed closer than it did a day ago.

Sam had gotten into The University of the Arts in Philly, along with, as he had put it, an "awesome" financial aid package. The Kentucky schools had accepted him too, but for now, money wasn't an issue, and he wasn't going to get stuck there.

Once he had gotten all his letters, Judy finally let him know how much money was in that savings account, because while he'd done his part of the FAFSA form, she'd been pretty secretive about all the stuff surrounding her and Russell's finances. It was a lot. More than he expected anyways, based on what his mother had said to him earlier in the year. Enough that he didn't get any need-based aid from any of the schools he applied to, but Suffolk and UMass had offered some moderate academic scholarships. He'd have to take out loans, but to him, the debt would be more than worth it.

After many late-night Skype calls to Sam and a few awkward, jilted conversations with his mother, he decided on UMass. He had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, but the school was big enough that it had a few dozen of majors and a ton of classes to choose from. But most appealing was that it was a big school, with over 15,000 undergrads. No one would have to know who he was unless he wanted them to.

Come August, he would be able to breathe again, like he hadn't done since he was a kid.

* * *

><p>The second week of May Miss Pillsbury hung a banner by the choir room congratulating New Directions on their second place finish at nationals. He was surprised they had managed to pull it together, but legitimately glad they did well. It was the first nice thought he had had about the glee club in a long time.<p>

He skipped statistics since all they had been doing for the past two weeks was review for the AP test, and he really was not worried about it at all. Instead, he went outside to smoke, only remembering once he was out the door that Mack was actually trying to pass chemistry so she could finally graduate and Ronnie and Sheila had in school suspension because Mrs. Hagberg caught them smoking in one of the bathrooms.

But he got to the bleachers and saw Santana smoking on their ratty couch (procured off the side of the road and hauled by Mack's crappy Ford Ranger) and staring off at nothing. She jumped slightly at hearing his Chucks slap against the concrete. He smirked, but pretended not to notice.

"I guess I should say congratulations. For nationals and all," he said.

"Thanks. We probably would've won it if we'd ever actually tried practicing for more than a week before these fucking things."

"I'm surprised you practiced that much."

She chuckled. "Yeah, well. Schuester's still got his head up his ass, and Rachel hasn't had much of a reason to care since she found out she was going to NYADA, or whatever the fuck it's called."

"Good for her."

"I mean, I'm all for looking out for number one, but she could write a fucking book about it."

"Can't say I blame her, after all the shit we all put her through."

He shrugged and lit his own cigarette, offering one to Santana after noticing she had finished hers. They sat quietly on the disgusting couch, watching one of Beiste's gym classes on the football field through the bleachers, laughing at the freshman girls tripping over each other playing field hockey.

Santana took a long drag and turned to him. "We ran into Jesse in New York. Or, he ran into us anyways. He's trying the whole Broadway thing or whatever. But then again, we saw him at the _flagship_ Olive Garden in Times Square. He was our fucking waiter. But even then, he was still trying to mack on Rachel. Finn was so pissed. It was beautiful."

He laughed. Jesse was such an _asshole, _but maybe in another life they could've been friends; he seemed like a lot of fun, at the very least.

"What's Finn going to be doing next year? You know?" he asked.

"Community college, I think. And working at Mr. Hummel's shop."

"Not going to New York, then?"

"Nope. Consider yourself lucky you've missed out on all this shit. It's been ridiculous."

"I can imagine." He flicked his ashes towards the ground. "What about you, San?"

"Northeastern. Lima can suck my dick."

He knew this already. The school liked to put the names and future schools of the seniors on the board out front, and Santana's was up a few weeks ago. She was also probably why he didn't get in there. At first, he panicked at the thought of them both being in the same city, and the idea still made him tense, but Boston was big, there was a minuscule chance of them ever running into each other.

"And Britt?" he asked to quell a bit of panic he hoped didn't show on his face.

"Purchase. It's, like, a New York state school, but it's super arty and filled with hippies who major in shit like basket weaving. They have a good dance program, though."

He nodded. "Cool. That's awesome." He was genuinely happy for Brittany, even if he hadn't spoken to her in over seven months.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He paused, but he knew he couldn't avoid her question. "UMass. Boston."

"Well, no shit. You ever going to tell me?"

"Just did," he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the wood arm rest.

"Don't be a smartass, Q. It doesn't work on you." She was quiet for a moment, like she wanted to say something else, but instead she sighed and dropped the rest of her cigarette to the ground, putting it out with the toe of her sneaker.

They weren't friends anymore, and they hadn't been in a long time. And they both knew it.

"Maybe we can hang out in Boston, away from all this crap," she said, like she could sense what he was thinking, or maybe he wasn't as good at hiding the fear in his eyes as he thought.

She got up and dusted her Cheerio's skirt off. "See you at graduation."

As she turned to head back inside, he laid back down on the couch and stared up at the bleachers, feeling a lot shittier than he thought he would.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry this took so long to get up, I had a major case of writer's block. The next one shouldn't take nearly long, and it'll wrap up part one of this story. Thanks for the patience.


	7. Chapter 7

June 23 he graduated from McKinley. It was ridiculously hot out on the football field, and he was wearing uncomfortable black dress pants that made his legs feel like they were on fire. It didn't take long for all the administrator's speeches to start blending together in a vaguely positive, platitude heavy haze. Mike gave the valedictorian's speech, even though he was the salutatorian, the real valedictorian was a socially awkward kid with a huge fear of public speaking, so he begged Mike to do it instead.

It was like all the other speeches they had heard that morning, so sure that they'd all be on to great things, and this was just the start of their journeys, and a bunch of hokey stuff that Mike, the nice, genuine guy that he was, probably believed at least a little.

He tried looking around for the glee kids, but only managed to spot Finn, since he was all the way down the other end of his aisle, and Kurt the next chair over from him. Mack was a couple of rows up, she had finally passed everything (barely) and got to graduate this year. She didn't say a lot about it, but he could tell she had been excited and relieved the past couple of weeks.

Up in the bleachers he saw his mother in one of her ridiculous pastel skirt suits, trying to appear as though the heat wasn't bothering her, but the miserable look on her face told him otherwise. A few rows behind her was his father. Judy had warned him that he'd be there, so it wasn't shocking, other than the fact that he actually showed up. He had no plans of interacting with him, though. And his mother explicitly told him before they left earlier that he didn't have to.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they started handing out the diplomas, which went surprisingly fast. Figgins and everyone on the shoddily constructed stage probably wanted to be out of there the worst. His name was eventually called, and Figgins shook his hand while handing him his diploma. He made his way down a long line of teachers and students, shaking their hands and nodding thanks when they all said "congratulations." When he got to Mike, he pulled him in for a quick hug, and told him "good luck" quiet in his ear. He said thanks, and wished him luck too, then was thankfully off the stage.

After everyone got their diplomas, hats were thrown (along with glitter, and some silly string), and he set out to find his mother in the huge crowd of people. He took a second to look at the diploma he was given, signifying that Quinn Fabray had graduated from William McKinley High School, and thought about how Quinn Fabray would probably never leave. But he was getting out in only two months.

His mother finally found him, and gave him a genuine hug, probably the first he had gotten in years. She told him how proud she was of her baby girl, and he tried not show how those words made him unbearably nauseous.

* * *

><p>The next morning when he got up, his mother had already left for the day, probably church, then brunch with her friends. When she was home on weekends, she kept a pretty regular schedule. He went downstairs to make coffee, and on the kitchen counter was a letter addressed to him, from Shelby. A yellow Post-It with his mother's handwriting was stuck to it.<p>

_This came in the mail last week. I didn't want you to be distracted for your final exams._

Anger started to boil up at Judy keeping this from him, but he tried his best to keep calm and opened the envelope. Shelby had written a long letter about how Beth had been in the past year, and how she was developing. What she liked (graham crackers and Yo Gabba Gabba) and didn't (baths, because she didn't want to get sucked down the drain). She was so smart, and apparently way ahead of the curve on talking and her motor skills. She loved Central Park and feeding pigeons, even though Shelby tried to discourage it.

He couldn't keep reading the letter, not all at once, so he shook the envelope, and a stack of pictures fell out. The one on top a shot of her feeding a particularly fat pigeon, smiling like it was the greatest thing she had ever done.

She looked like the both of them so much. That was unmistakably Puck's goofy grin, but she had his eyes, and his hair. And he started to break. The tears that had been threatening when he read the letter finally started falling. He went to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice and a cup, just to distract himself for a moment. He flipped over the letter and began reading from where he had left off.

Beth was amazing, she truly was just this perfect thing. And Shelby was such a good mom, and he was so glad that she was so good to Beth. In the last paragraph, Shelby asked what he was doing next year for college, and if he would maybe want to visit sometime.

He dropped his glass, which was mostly empty, and it shattered on the floor.

Shelby wanted him to see Beth. To visit them in New York. The child he didn't want and couldn't keep that had taken every bit of him two years ago. He couldn't breathe, and bits of glass were jabbing against his bare feet. The pain didn't even register. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know if he could move.

What the fuck was he going to do?

Would he have to tell Shelby? About him? Did he even want to go? He didn't know if he could lie to Beth. She deserved better than that from him. The thoughts all came at once, and he couldn't concentrate.

He went to the dining room, where they kept the alcohol. The vodka was closest, so he swiped it and tracked blood over the hardwood floors back to the kitchen, not noticing the trail he had left behind. He drank straight from the bottle until his eyes watered. It wouldn't stop the panic, but he knew it would at least slow down so he could breathe.

Within an hour he was bordering on a blackout. He shoved the bottle across the counter, so he wouldn't be tempted to empty it completely. The stack of pictures taunted him. Beth with the pigeons, and on a kiddie swing, with a mom who loved her more than anything in the world.

And Shelby wanted Quinn Fabray to visit her child, wrote it like it was nothing for her to ask. He held his head in his hands, trying not to vomit. How could he lie to Beth? How could he pretend to be this person who didn't exist anymore? How could he tell his child that her birth mother was a ghost?

He sat for a long time starting at the picture of her feeding the pigeon, so drunk he lost all concept of time. He heard the front door open and close and the click of his mother's heels, abruptly stopping at the threshold to the kitchen.

She dropped her purse to the ground and rushed over to him. By now he had seen the small blood trail he had left on the floor, but he still didn't feel any pain. The near empty vodka bottle was tipped on its side by the sink. She took it all in, then saw the picture he had been staring at.

"Oh, Quinnie."

He opened his mouth to try and give an explanation, but he had none. His mother wrapped her arms around him while he sat at the counter on a rickety stool that should have been thrown out years ago. Then he started to cry, harder than he thought he could. She pulled him in closer at an awkward angle and held on tight as he sobbed, both of them staring at the beautiful little girl feeding the pigeon.

* * *

><p>The day after he read Shelby's letter, after his mother had held him while he sobbed, he decided he needed to tell her. He couldn't hide it anymore from her, because now she knew too much, and it would be easy to just blame it on Beth, but he couldn't lie anymore, either. He was so tired of it, just so fucking tired of trying to be a daughter his mother had not had for a long time.<p>

It had been two weeks since his mother had found him drunk. They hadn't said anything about it, and likely never would. Judy left early Friday morning to spend a night away with the women's group from the new church she had started attending in the past few months, ever since his father had started showing up at their old one regularly again, new wife in tow.

He made plans to spend the weekend down in Kentucky with Sam. They hadn't seen each other in person since the one weekend their spring breaks matched up, and that was only for a day, since Sam had to do Easter stuff with his family. He also decided that this was the best time to tell his mother, since he wouldn't have to directly confront her. A duffel bag was packed with a couple more days worth of clothes than he actually he needed, just in case. The Evans may not get it, but he knew that if he needed a place to stay, he would be welcome there.

Before he left for Sam's, he pulled out an old biology notebook from under his bed and began to write on a blank page.

_Mom,_

_I'm writing this because I'm too scared to tell you in person. After what happened two years ago, I just can't do it. I hope you understand._

_I have no idea how to do this. I've felt wrong for a long time, I think since I was a little kid, but it took me until this year to admit what it was. You and dad did so much to make me into someone you could be proud of. I ruined it once, and now I'm probably going to ruin it again, but I think we've gotten better. It feels like we've gotten better. You feel like my mom again, instead of just my mother and the person I shared a house with. That probably sounds harsh, but we both know it's true. I was just as guilty as you were, though. I know that too._

_I'm transgender. I don't even know if you know what that means, but for me, I'm a guy. My body's wrong, and it has been for a long time. I just know what I am. I wish I could explain it to you, but I can't find any words for it that I think you would get. Lucy knew it too, but it got fixed in a different way. And I thought that would make it all okay again, or at least better, but it didn't. Not really anyway. In a lot of ways it made it worse. I knew I was supposed to be happy and normal, but I never felt like either. Sophomore year was because I wanted to feel normal. _

_I can tell you've been worried. I can see you look at me sometimes like you don't know what's going on with me. That's it. I figured it out, and I had to spend this whole year trying to get okay with it. I'm not totally there yet, but I'm better. I told Sam in November, and he's the only other person that knows. And he has been great, so whatever your reaction is, I at least have him._

_I didn't want to tell you, but I didn't think it was fair to keep lying to you either, especially since we've both been trying more this past year. And after what you saw a couple weeks ago, I don't think either of us can pretend everything's okay anymore. You needed to know, so now you do. If you feel like calling me once you read this, you can. If not, I'll be back on Sunday, if you still want me home._

_Love,_

_Your son_

He folded up the sheet of paper, wrote "Mom" on it, and left it on the island in the kitchen. He stared at it a long while, contemplating whether or not to actually leave it. Ultimately, he grabbed the duffel bag by his feet and headed out to his car, his heart racing.

* * *

><p>Four hours later he had crossed the Kentucky state line and was on the Evans' porch, rapping on their front door. Sam had taken the next two days off work, so he was the one who greeted him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and leading him into the house to say hi to his siblings, who were thrilled. Immediately, Stacie pulled him into the living room to show him the jewelry making kit she got for her birthday. Sam laughed and took his bag to Stacie's room, while she gave him a bracelet she had made. It was pink and black, because those seemed like his favorite colors now, and she tied it to his wrist as best she could. He'd fix it later.<p>

He and Sam spent the afternoon playing with Stacie and Stevie until his dad got home from work. His mom was working a later shift, but Mr. Evans let them go to do whatever, as long as it wasn't something stupid. They both promised, and he gave Sam the keys to his car, because he actually knew his way around. He pulled his knit hat off once he was in the passenger's seat and tossed it in the back. He couldn't take it anymore, it was too hot. Sam laughed at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Dude, how can you wear that in the middle of summer? It's, like, a hundred degrees out."

He shrugged. "I dunno. It makes me feel better."

Sam nodded at that, and glanced at him. "Well, at least we don't look like we're related anymore."

Since they had last seen each other, the rest of the pink had either washed out or was incredibly faded. It was mostly his natural color for the first time in almost five years.

"You want to get something to eat?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, sure." He fiddled with the bracelet Stacie had given him, tightening it up a bit. "Can we stop somewhere first?"

"Of course. Where do you need to go?"

A half hour later they were sitting in Burger King and he was enduring an endless stream of Bieber jokes and impersonations. Sam had taken him to a Super Cuts, and he left with something vaguely Bieber-esque, but nothing worthy of the shit he was currently taking.

"You looked like this for a year. And formed a Bieber tribute band! You cannot give me crap," he said, pulling his hat down further.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Sam said, trying to stifle his laughter. "It's just, everyone gave me so much shit for the Bieber look. Including you, if I remember correctly. Sorry, but it's nice to take it out on someone else for a change."

"Asshole," he mumbled just loud enough for Sam to hear.

"No, man. I mean, tt looks good, better than what you came here with definitely."

"Thanks. I think." He ate a few fries while Sam devoured his Whopper. "I told my mom."

"Wait, what?" Sam said through a mouthful of burger.

"Well, I wrote her a letter. She'll probably see it tomorrow when she gets home."

"Oh my god."

"I know."

"Is that why your bag was, like, a little heavy for a weekend?"

"Yeah, I mean. If she kicks me out…"

"Okay. Yeah, I get it now. Shit, dude."

Sam stared at him like he wanted to say more, but refrained.

"I'm trying not to think about it."

"Right. Yeah. Uh, wanna go play mini-golf or something? My dad got some free passes from his boss."

He nodded and smiled. He really didn't know how he could've done all this without Sam.

* * *

><p>Saturday afternoon, he and Sam watched Spongebob reruns with Stacie. Mrs. Evans had taken Stevie to his baseball practice, and Mr. Evans was working a side job installing some cabinets for a little extra money. He kept running a hand through his short hair, trying to get used to it. Just as the show was going to commercial, he felt his phone go off.<p>

It was his mother.

Sam gave him a concerned look. "Your mom?"

He nodded. "Can I?" he asked, motioning towards the front door.

"Yeah, of course. Good luck," Sam said, clasping him on the back and giving a weak smile.

He took and deep breath and went out to the porch, clicking the answer button on the way.

"Quinn?" his mother asked.

"Hi, mom." His voice was weak and it felt as if all the air had left his lungs.

"I read your letter."

"I figured." He sat down on the wicker rocker in the corner and tried to take a few deep breaths.

"Is this real?" Her tone wasn't harsh, but definitely confused.

"I would never write that as a joke. You know that."

The line was silent for a long while. He thought that perhaps she had just hung up.

"Mom?" he asked.

"I love you, Quinn. It probably hasn't always felt like it, I know, but I do love you. Do you know that?"

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. This was going better than the worst case scenarios he had imagined. Maybe there was hope.

"Yeah, I know. I didn't for a long time, I think, but…" he trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"I don't really know what else to say right now, but I needed to call and tell you that. I love you no matter what."

Tears began to leak from his eyes, and he was having difficulty keeping his voice even. "I love you too." He added after a moment, "Thank you."

Judy was silent again, but he heard her sniffle on the line, letting him know she was still there.

"I'm sorry you feel like you have to thank me for that, honey. I'm so sorry."

He was actually crying now, and couldn't hold a conversation anymore. "Mom, we'll talk tomorrow, okay. I just-I can't right now."

"Alright. Just, please let me know when you're on your way, okay?"

"I will. Bye, mom."

"Goodbye, Quinn."

She hung up, and he dropped his head back against the chair, covering his mouth with his free hand, trying to stifle the sound. A few minutes later, Sam opened the door a crack and peeked outside at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"She said she loved me no matter what."

Sam stepped outside and pulled him out of the chair into a hug. He buried his face into Sam's t-shirt, and they stood like that for a while, neither saying a word.

* * *

><p>He left Sam's early Sunday morning, with a final hug from all the members of the Evans clan. Sam's parents had no idea what was going on with him, but still told him that if he ever needed a place to stay, he could always come back.<p>

Sam walked him to his car and gave him a bone crushing embrace, telling him to call or text when he got home. Before he got on the road, he called the house phone, knowing his mother was much less likely to pick it up than her cell. He left a message, and began the trip back to Lima. Despite his best intentions to drag out the drive, traffic was non-existent, and he kept anxiously speeding without even realizing it. He made it back in record time, just over three and half hours.

Judy's car was in the driveway when he got in, meaning she either went to the early service at church, or just didn't attend at all. He sat in his car for a while, trying to work up the courage to actually go inside and face his mother. After almost a half-hour, he finally grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and slowly walked to the door, taking a long, deep breath before opening it.

His mother was sitting at the dining room table, coffee cup in her hands, and staring out the back door to the backyard. She turned her head once she heard him shut the door, but she didn't get up to greet him. He dropped his bag by the stairs and went to the kitchen to get his own cup of coffee, she had left just enough for him in the pot.

He went to the dining room and sat across from his mother. She made a slight face at him, one that she didn't want him to notice, probably because of his new haircut. They didn't say anything for what felt like hours. Eventually, she reached across the table and grabbed his free hand, holding it lightly.

"I love you, Quinn. I'm sorry about what your father and I did to you, and I'm sorry you felt I would do that to you again."

He nodded slightly. "You can't blame me."

"I can't," she said, looking at him with a sadness he had never seen before. She put her coffee down to wipe at her eyes. "Did I-did we do this to you? Is it something we did, when you were younger or with the baby? Honey, I'm so sorry. I-"

"You guys didn't do anything. This is just something I am. I think I was like this long before dad decided he could fix me to make me happier, y'know, because I asked him to. I just didn't have a word, or a concept for what it was. I just thought something was wrong, and that it made me wrong."

"I just don't understand it. You've always been my lovely little girl. Always."

"Maybe a long time ago, mom. But I haven't been your little girl for a long time. I just didn't know it yet," he said, trying not to cry along with her.

"Was it those girls you've been hanging around with this year? Did they give you this idea that you're not, that you're not-?"

"A girl? No. No one gave me this idea. I've felt this way before I knew what it was. I knew it while I was pregnant. I knew it when I got pregnant. I got pregnant because I knew. I knew that something was wrong, but I didn't know what. It's been like that for a long time. No one made me this way. We all tried to fix it, and it didn't work."

His mother let go of his hand to wipe at both of her eyes again. "You're my daughter, Quinn. I don't know if I can ever see you as anything else."

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He didn't expect her to get it at all, maybe even ever, but he didn't think actually hearing it would hurt so much.

"I know. Doesn't mean I don't wish you could. But I needed to start being honest with you. This is who I am now, regardless of how you see me." He took a deep breath. "I've got some stuff figured out if you don't want to pay for my college anymore, or whatever. Just please let me know now, so I can still go in the fall."

That got Judy to move. She went to his side of the table, pulling him out of the chair and into a hug.

"Oh, honey. I'm not going to do that. I may not understand this, but I would never put your education at risk because of it. I promise I will never do that."

He awkwardly hugged her back. "Okay, mom. Thank you."

"You said Sam knew? He's it?"

"Yeah, just him." He pulled out of the hug and put a couple of feet between them. "He's more than okay with it. He's been amazing. I'm really lucky."

"He was fine with it?"

"I mean, yeah. He was surprised, and really confused. But I was too. He helped me through it a lot."

She gave him a concerned look. "I'm glad you have such a good friend."

"Me too."

She picked up their cups from the table and went to the kitchen to wash them out.

"I'm going to go to the afternoon service. Do you want to come with me?" she asked shakily.

"Not really, mom. No."

"Okay." She slumped her shoulders slightly. "I'm going to make dinner tonight. Are you going to be around?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"Alright. Good. I'm just-I'm going to get ready for church."

She moved from the sink to hug him again.

"Okay," he said as she loosened her grip and headed upstairs.

He leaned forward against the island and held his head in his hands for a long while, grateful he was still in the house, and fighting back tears because he would probably never be her son.

* * *

><p>That night, after an awkward, silent, dinner, and after his mother had long since gone to bed, he laid awake, unable to fall asleep. He was still astounded he was in his room at all, and trying not to feel like absolute shit because his mother had still essentially rejected him. To her, he'd always be Quinn. Or Lucy. Or someone else that she had constructed in her mind that might've never existed in the first place.<p>

Giving up on sleep, he went over to his desk and opened his laptop. He checked his e-mail and Facebook, but there was nothing to distract him. He clicked over to Youtube and signed into the account he used to subscribe to trans guys' channels. There were a couple weeks worth of unwatched videos. One of the collaborative channels he watched had done a week on how they chose their names.

He had been thinking about it all summer. He wasn't Quinn anymore, and hadn't been for at least a year, but he didn't know if he was really anyone else yet either. The guys in the videos either knew right away, or took forever to pick a name, but they all seemed to agree that it was something that just felt right in the end. All he knew was that Quinn wasn't right.

He googled "baby names," and it took him to , which he had looked at once, a long time ago, when he thought for a split second that he might keep Beth. It was overwhelming, though, and he had no idea where to start. He went back to google and look through some of the other sites. One of them had a random name generator.

Jefferson. Edrian. Brian. Sackville (which made him laugh). Orson. Geoffrey. Aiden. Cole. Landon. Finn (which also made him laugh). Ira. Anthony. Simon. Dean. Sean.

Simon.

He went back a couple of pages to Simon. It said that it meant "to hear," or "to be heard." He remembered from Bible study that one of the Apostles was named Simon. And ironically he didn't say anything and was barely mentioned. Wikipedia said it meant "He who has heard the word of God," but backed up the first site.

Simon. To be heard.

He needed desperately to not be Quinn anymore. And not that he really looked hard, but Simon immediately felt right. "To be heard" felt right. It sat well in his chest and in his gut. It fit with what he felt, and flicking on his desk lamp and looking at himself in the mirror that he recently put back up, he looked like a Simon. He was pretty sure he was Simon Fabray. Actually, he hadn't ever been so sure of anything.

Even though it was two o'clock in the morning, he grabbed his phone and texted Sam.

_Simon. I think it's Simon now._

* * *

><p>AN: So, this wraps up part one of this story. Part two I've already started working on, and it's probably going to be shorter than part one, but I'm going to try and finish it all before I start posting it. I'm moving to Iowa Feb. 8th to do Americorps for 10 months, and won't always have reliable Internet access, so I'd rather finish it all up and post it as regularly as possible, than put it up as I write it.

But in the meantime, thanks to everyone that has been reading this. I really appreciate it


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